


that's my, that's my man

by Overdressedtokill (SkyeStan)



Series: Spirit of Vengeance AU [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Maybe? It Could Be Seen as S3 Compliant, Mind Control, No Death or Gore, Possession, Spirit of Vengeance - Freeform, Strangulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-02 02:04:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4041532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyeStan/pseuds/Overdressedtokill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(this world is gonna burn.) skye vs. the spirit of vengeance. or, you know, the spirit of vengeance in grant’s body. violent delights = violent ends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	that's my, that's my man

“See, here’s the thing,” he says, and he stares idly at the back of his hand.  Watches it come alight and grins.  “I didn’t get my powers from a space rock.  So whether that makes me better or worse than you-” The flames lick up his arm without burning him.  It covers him from fingers to shoulder like armor.  “I guess we’ll have to see.”

Something is wrong.  “I’m not afraid of you,” she says.

“But are you afraid of what you’ve done?” Grant says.  “Because I can see it, Skye.  Every sin of yours, spelled out right in front of me.”

She snarls.  “You have no ground to be talking about sin, Ward.  You’re as dark as they come.”

“Oh,” he says, in a voice that is mocking and cold and not him.  Not even a little bit him.  “You’re right, Skye. I was in the dark, yes.”

It’s like someone else is speaking through him.  “Ward-”

“But there’s good news, Skye,” he says.  Takes a step towards her, and sets his other arm ablaze.  “I’ve seen the light.”

He aims for her head.

She ducks down in time.  Hits the ground with her powers in full swing.  Rolls out of the way when he shoots her a second time.

There’s a scorch mark where her face was.  And maybe it’s that.

Maybe it’s the way he reaches for her, like he intends to strangle her.  Like he intends to burn her away.  She picks herself up before he can reach her.  Kicks out a blast of energy that sends him back.

He hits an old assembly line, spine first.  And it’s like nothing.  He chuckles to himself, and pulls a pipe off of the machine.

It burns in his hand like a flare.

It’s this gut-feeling she has.  That as many times as she’d called him a psychopath, she’d never realized what it meant.  Not until now.

Is that karma? Is this a punishment?  You wanted a psychopath, the Universe said.  And here he is.

He’s trying to kill her.  Grant Ward is trying to kill her.  And it’s like the whole world’s come crashing down around her.

 

 

“You know, Skye,” Ward says.  “You’ve got a pretty filthy past.”

She takes a step back.  “You don’t know me.”

“Vengeance always knows,” Ward says.  “You’re a desperate little sinner, trying to pass herself off as a dirty saint.  But we can see you for what you are.”

She balls her hands into fists.  “We?”

“It’s a long story,” Ward says.  “But I don’t have the time to tell you.”

He comes for her at once, wielding his pipe like an archangel’s sword.  Like those pictures of Saint Michael the nuns used to show her.

She can’t grab his arms without burning off her hands.  She aims a blast at his chest.  Sends him soaring over her head.

When he stands again, the flames are at his neck.  And his eyes- His eyes aren’t his at all.

 

 

“Ward,” she says.  She needs to get out of here.  He’s going to kill her.  “Are you possessed?”

A laugh.  “Clever girl,” he says.  “The nuns were wrong about you.  You’re not nearly as stupid as everyone thought.”

It comes out in Ward’s voice, and it twists something inside her.  “He doesn’t think that about me,” Skye says.  Demands.  “You do.  Whatever you are.”

“Oh,” Ward says.  “Oh, Mary.”

“That’s not my name,” she says.

“It’s the name you were baptized with,” Ward says.  “Do you think that’ll be enough to send you to heaven?” he asks. “I don’t.”

“Grant!” she yells, like she’s trying to reach him.  “Grant wouldn’t want to kill me.  He wouldn’t.”

A grin.  He taps the pipe against his palm.  Like he’s humoring her.  “Oh but he’s begging me to,” Ward says.  Not Ward.  Someone else.  “He wants you dead.  Part of him thinks it’ll bring the other girl back.  The one he actually loved.”

Don’t listen.  She can’t afford to listen.  She shakes her head.  “You’re lying.”

“Vengeance can’t lie,” he says. “It can only reveal the truth.”

“If he wants me dead so badly,” Skye says, spreading her fingers.  Something in her head repeats those last words.  The one he actually loved.  He wants you dead.  He wants you dead he never loved you he wants you dead.  “Then come on!”

 

 

Ward’s body roars with laughter.  “I love a good fight,” he says.  “You know it’s pointless, Mary.  You know you can’t beat me.  And you certainly can’t beat him.”

“Don’t call me Mary,” Skye says.

“Ah!” he says, snapping his fingers.  “Thank you.  You just reminded me of the other girl’s name.  Kara.  What fond memories he has of her.  Do you know what he remembers you as, _Mary?_ ”

“He wouldn’t want this,” she says.  “He’d never use Kara like a weapon.”

A sneer.  “You know what he wants, now?” he asks.  “That’s adorable.  Especially given what he thinks of you.”  She won’t take the bait.  She won’t.  So he just keeps going.  “The worst mistake he ever made was opening up to you.  He knows that, now.  He regrets it every day.”

He says it exactly in Grant’s voice.  Exactly like Grant would say it to her.

She cracks the ground beneath him.  He wobbles, just for an instant.  Looks her dead in the eye, and smiles.

Grant’s face.  Grant’s voice.  Not Grant.  It’s not him.

There’s chains hanging from the ceiling, rusted with time.  She snaps the rusted parts.  Brings them collapsing down on him.

He looks up, and vanishes in a pillar of flame.

She’d take a step back, if he wasn’t suddenly behind her.  Kneeing her in the back.  Bringing the pipe under her chin and pressing it against her windpipe.

“He’ll be so much happier when you’re dead,” Ward says.  “The peace it will bring him- You can’t even imagine.  You’ve never been at peace.”

She tries to grab the pipe.  It burns.  It’s blisteringly hot.  She can’t hold onto it without burning the skin off her hands.  She cries out.

“I can heat it where I want to heat it,” he says.  “Which is why your pretty little neck isn’t smoking, right now.”

“Let me go,” she says.

“If he hadn’t wasted his time with you,” Ward growls.  “He could’ve been with her.  Held her every night, kissed her every morning.  You took that from him.”

“He loves me,” Skye protests.  She doesn’t know what good it will do.  She can’t blast him back without crushing her own windpipe.  She can’t flip him without getting burned.

“I never loved you,” Ward says.  Not Ward.  Ward’s voice, but it can’t be him. It isn’t.

He pulls the pipe tighter.   “I want you to die knowing that.  Grant Ward never loved you.  You were a distraction.  Something nice to keep him going.  But he never truly loved you.  And he hated you the second he knew he could.”

She sees spots in her vision.  “Grant,” she says.  “Grant, please-”

“Shut up,” he says. 

“Grant,” she begs, again.  “Grant, you can’t let him-”

She can’t speak.  She can’t breathe.  It’s too hard.  It’s too-

 

 

The pipe clatters to the floor.  Skye falls forward, gasping for air.  She crawls away from Grant as quickly as she can, clamoring to her feet. 

Grant’s not even looking at her.  He’s staring at his hands. The fire’s gone, but he’s still staring.

“Grant?” she asks.

He looks up.  “You have to go.”

“I can’t-” She shakes her head.  There’s a bruise forming on her neck.  She can feel it.  “I can help you.”

“I don’t need your help!” he snaps.  “I need you to leave!”

“Please,” she says.  They are in a church in Dublin, and he is not himself.  They are sitting at a bar, and he has eyes the color of whiskey.  “You can’t let that thing control you.”

“It chose me,” he says.  “There’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

“But you just did!” she says. “You stopped him from killing me.”

“And I doubt I can do it twice,” Grant says.  “So you need to stay away from me.  All of you do.”

“Grant-”

“Get out of here, Skye,” he says.

Skye.  Not Mary.  It’s some kind of relief.  “Is it true?” she asks.  “Those things he said.  Do you really- Is that what you think of me?”

“I don’t know what he said, Skye,” Grant says. “I don’t have control over it.”

She can’t tell him.  She can’t ask.  Can’t bring herself to say it out loud.

Because what if it’s true?  What then?

 

 

His arm lights up again.

A beat.

He stares at his arm with something like acceptance.  “Skye,” he says.  Pleads.  Doesn’t look at her.  “Go.”

She’s never really been heartbroken like this before.

It shakes through her as the fire consumes Grant a second time. As his expression goes cold.  He cracks his neck.  “Round two, Mary?”

She brings half the warehouse down between them.  Boxes and brick and bits of metal fall between them, and she turns on her heel and runs.

She hears Grant laughing behind her.  “Until next time, sweetheart,” he says, and it follows her, clings to her like smoke.

 

 

She doesn’t even know how far she makes it before she throws up.  It hurts worse than anything.  Her windpipe’s bruised, and it’s hard to breathe, hard to vomit, hard to think.

He never loved her.  He never loved her at all.

What if he’d only saved her out of pity?  Out of some last shread of camraderie?

But that wouldn’t make sense.  If Grant wanted her dead, she’d be dead.

Whatever was in Grant wanted her dead.  Was that of its own volition? Or had it been telling the truth?

Was there a part of Grant Ward that wanted her to suffer?

That would make plenty of sense, actually.

Not like she’s innocent.  Dirty saint.  Dirty, filthy saint.  Left him to suffer.  And this is what she gets.

Because Grant didn’t love her, did he?  That _thing,_ that spirit, knew.  It knew all Grant’s secrets, and all of hers.

(You love Grant Ward.)

She shouldn’t.  She couldn’t.  But she does.  She does, and he’s supposed to love her back.  For all time, or something stupid like that.

But at this rate, it would kill her.  Unless, of course, she killed Grant first.

She means to sob, but throws up again instead.  Kill or be killed.  Hate or be hated.

(Vengance never lies.  What did that even _mean_?)

The bruises on her neck will be purple by tomorrow.

 


End file.
